Waiting for the Bus

Poem by Carol Edwards + Interview

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Steel frame bullets
fire from their casings
along the interstate barrel:
rush rush rush
money to make, toys to gain
a rat race religion.
 
Poisonous fumes from cast-off refuse
waft sightless on the haze
of dust, exhaust, tobacco;
the sun beats down on hunched backs,
a slow sweltering homo sapien rotisserie.